Winter's Dawn
by Lord Noctis
Summary: This is the story of how Cormick of House McAllister came to leave his home behind him and set out into the world with vengeance in his heart, and the shadow of death at his back
1. Chapter One

_This is just a little short story I wrote up as the backstory for my new dnd character. Figured I'd share it. I hope you enjoy it_

**Winter's Dawn**

Deepwood hold is a ruined place now, its halls littered by debris and a stained with blood. But there are no corpses to be found, decaying or otherwise. Perhaps a discarded limb here or there, a severed head that rolled under a bed and there awaits the poor fool curious enough to find its dead, gaping eyes. The night winds howl and whine through broken windows and cracks in the crumbling walls, and when the rains come they pour in through holes in the roof.

Deepwood Hold is a ruined place now, but it was not always so. Once, not so long ago, it was the seat of the ancient house of McAllister, the wardens of the Deep Wood, and envoys to the moon elves of old. Here was where emissaries from the adjoining realms of elves and men first met thousands of years ago to end the long wars that raged between the old empire and the new kingdoms. Here was where the druids of the green lakes gathered 400 years ago when the plague of leaves threatened to destroy all the green in the world. And here is where House McAllister found their glory when the legendary ranger, Duncan McAllister, slew the Gnoll prince Azrath two centuries ago, ending the mad beasts war on the realms of man and earning his title and land from King Osric..

Here, also, is where I, Cormick, youngest son of Seamus and Lydia McAllister was born 28 years past. On the surface that day had seemed not so different from any other. The summer sun shone warmly through the forest canopy bathing the castle in a gentle green glow. Birds sang their songs among the branches, and squirrels and badgers and other woodland creatures scurried about in the underbrush. Streams flowed and babbled over muddy banks and smooth stones. It was peaceful, quiet, and not at all the sort of day that one thinks of when imagining the birth of evil.

For you see, my birth was not the only event of significance to occur on that calm summer day. For years there had been tension among the tribes of the moon elves who still remained in the Deep Wood. Some felt humans had no place among these ancient trees, and thus demanded war. Their leaders refused. They regarded my house with respect and recognized our honor. So long as we did not desecrate the trees, or violate the ancient treaties between our people then they could not condone war. They had held this stance against the extremists for many long years, until that day 28 years ago.

Vile Elthiand and his Lady Denerial could no longer tolerate the presence of humans in their ancestral homeland. No cost was to high to see us removed. That morning they spread a poison through their camp, slaying all among their kin who did not share their views. Then, using the darkest magic, Vile Elthiand reanimated their corpses. He led his new minions from camp to camp, recruiting those elves whos shared his views, and killing the rest that their numbers could be added to the horde.

For many months, life went on normally at Deepwood Hold. Oh, there were whispers of dark shapes moving in the night, and reports of missing travellers, but that was all. It wasn't until late that winter, when snow piled high outside the castle gates that we received our first warning of the danger. A lone moon elf who had escaped Elthiand's madness came to our gates and warned us of the impending attack. My father in turn summoned every fighting man he could to defend the walls of his hold, and brought the villagers from the surrounding woods inside of those walls.

Three days later at the stroke of midnight, Elthiand's horde came against the defenders of the Deep Wood. The battle lasted until sunrise, and saw more than half the defenders killed, but they held their ground. In the light of the sun, the dead weakened and withdrew back amongst the trees. My father knew that the victory was temporary at best. One or two more battles like that and Deepwood hold would fall. He led a small band of rangers into the trees with a simple mission: kill Vile Elthiand and his Lady Denerial. They met with a partial success, Elthiand fell to my father's blade. Denerial, mad with fear and grief, escaped deep into the woods with a small number of the undead still under her control. The dead remained behind, leaderless and murderous. They spread like a plague through the forest, and even spilled into the surrounding lands. But without Elthiand's direction they were uncoordinated. My father and his companions founded The Order of Winter's Dawn, a gathering of the Deep Wood's rangers dedicated to purging the forest of the undead filth the roamed the night, as well as hunting Lady Denerial and the wicked elves who still served her.

I grew up amongst tales of these brave rangers and their clashes against the Mad Lady of the dead. When I was old enough to join their ranks, I did so eagerly and learned their craft. I fought against the dead, and pursued whispers of Denerial's madness. I fancied myself a hero who would end the battle my ailing father started, and finally restore the peace that had once characterized these woods.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Lady Denerial had spent the long years gathering as many corpses as she could from travellers, slain enemies, and the roaming groups of zombies that she was able to bring back under control. Against the walls of Deepwood Hold and the Order of Winter's Dawn it would not have been enough, were it not for the treachery of Angus Filch, one of our own. I know not what Lady Denerial must have offered him, for I can imagine no reward that would justify his actions.

He reported a gathering of the dead with the Mad Lady at its center. Alarmed at this news, my father commanded the Order to ride out in force, and we did, only to find the trees clear of threats. Angus remained behind however, and when the dead arrived at the gates in their hundreds, he let them in. Deepwood Hold fell that day, and those who were killed were raised as soldiers of the dead. The Order of Winter's Dawn was all but destroyed when that host hit our flank late in the night. Those few of us who escaped fled the woods in desperate fear. I cannot speak for the other survivors, but I have never ventured back to my old home. I don't desire to look upon those violated halls, nor the dead faces of those I grew up with.

Let the Mad Lady of the dead have her old forest, what does it matter now? But Angus Filch is another matter. I know that he too has left the Deep Wood behind. Somewhere in this world the traitor walks and eats and sleeps like any other man. When I find him, I believe that he will also die like any other man


	2. Chapter Two

**Winter's Dawn**

Chapter Two

There was a great deal of confusion following the fall of Deep Wood hold. At first none of us even knew that the castle had fallen. We had been out in the woods for a full day, and most of a second day searching for the enemy horde that Angus Filch had reported. On the eve of the second night, our commander, Mallen, declared that we would return to the castle on the morrow.

That didn't happen, of course. The dead had already claimed our home, and now they came for us. The autumn night was cold and dark. A heavy rain fell between the leaves, pattering off of our cloaks and dampening the ground. No camp fires were lit that night. When the dead hit us they did so in total darkness.

I cannot tell you with any certainty what happened, exactly. First we heard the screams of our sentries, then the moaning of of zombies and the clattering of bones. Some of us managed to make a fight of it; I heard the sounds of swords clashing against one another and crashing against shields. Frantic yells and screams filled the night. Our commander shouted orders one after the other, though I heard almost none of them over the downpour.

I fired a couple of arrows at dark shapes half seen in the dark, but one of the more experienced rangers quickly stopped me. Between the dark and the rain it was all but impossible to tell friend from foe until they were upon you.

Around us the moans grew louder, while the screams began to dwindle. Taken by fear, I fled. By some miracle I managed to escape, though I felt things tug at my cloak and claw at my feet. But I escaped, I and eight others. In total nine of us survived the night. There had been fifty three of us when we made camp that night.

In the morning we regrouped at a small lodge near an old oak tree by a lazy stream, a long established rallying point for our order, one of many scattered throughout the forest. At the time we were utterly unaware of what had transpired back home. We merely believed ourselves the unfortunate victims of an ambush amidst bad weather. We decided to return to the castle and report our failure.

You can't imagine the horror we felt when we gazed upon Deep Wood Hold that evening. The gates hung open, and blood painted the courtyard. I dared not enter, I knew what I must see if I ventured into the keep, and I did not think I could bare to see my family slain.

Another of the surviving rangers, a man they called Iron Tooth, volunteered to scout the castle. His report was grim. Lots of blood, no bodies, and little doubt. Somehow Lady Denerial had breached the defenses and finally won her long war against us. The worst of it though was that the gates showed no sign of damage. They had been opened to the intruders.

It was only later, as we hunted the woods for any trace of Lady Denerial that we learned of Angus' treachery. Mallister saw him knelt before the Mad Lady Of The Dead. He might've ended the traitor then, were it not for the hundreds of walking corpses between them. Instead he returned to the group to report his findings.

After no small amount of deliberation, it was decided that we would leave the woods behind and seek the aid of King Anton the 3rd of Kiirn. With his army to back us, surely we could put an end to Denerial and reclaim our home. Unfortunately, we were denied any such aid.

Oh, the King offered us food and shelter sure enough, and even fresh weapons and armor if we should want it, but he would give us no soldiers. The Deep Wood was, strictly speaking, the domain of the moon elves. They had simply been gracious enough to allow our people to settle a small part of it that there might be a bridge between our civilisations. Our King would not send his soldiers to die on foreign land that technically belonged to our allies.

We were unsure what to do next. Nine rangers, regardless of skill or determination could never hope to retake the Deep Wood from Lady Denerial and her army of the dead. And so long as she made no move beyond the borders of that ancient forest we would receive no aid.

The others were adamant that we couldn't give up. They gathered their gear and set off back towards the Deep Wood. I, on the other hand, remained. I had heard whispers of another ranger who had been seen leaving the Deep Wood along the southern roads.. A man with black hair and an eye patch over his right eye. Angus Filch. Going after Lady Denerial was a hopeless endeavor, but Angus was different. One man, now without friends and away from the one person who he might still be able to count as an ally. He could be hunted. He could be killed.

I set out with vengeance in my heart, determined to find Angus Filch no matter what the cost. But, as a wise man once said, there's not a lot of money in revenge. Before long my coin purse grew light, and I quickly discovered that a family name was no substitute for gold in the eyes of an innkeeper.

My experience as a ranger had left me well suited to the life of a sellsword. My jobs started easy enough: slay some kobolds, capture a thief, scare off some highwaymen. I won't lie and claim I had no trouble with it. For one thing, my noble upbringing had left me with a skewed perspective on how much coin certain jobs warranted, which made my early negotiations difficult. I also encountered some trouble the first time I went after a thief. I was accustomed to facing the mindless legions of the dead whose sole tactic was to attack viciously until nothing living remained before them. Frightening perhaps, but easy to predict. Wolves, bears, and other beasts of the wild were easy to predict as well. They wanted food, and they wanted other creatures to stay away from their young. If they were hungry, or if you came near their cubs then you would likely be attacked, otherwise you would likely be fine so long as you didn't startle them. Not so with a thief who sought only to escape with his ill gotten goods.

Still, I adapted, and my prey was brought to justice. Or I assume they were at least; I never heard much about past jobs after I received my payment. I liked to stay on the move as much as possible. I wasn't good in social settings. My rugged appearance and gruff demeanor did little to endear me to the townsfolk and villagers I interacted with. In some cases they even seemed to view me with open suspicion. Fine, let them. I was happy enough to collect my payment, purchase whatever supplies I might need, and return to the wilds. I never got those dirty looks from the denizens of the forest, except maybe from owls. Hard to tell with that lot.

I came to think of myself as a great adventurer, and I am ashamed to admit I may have become a tad arrogant. I Began to demand higher prices for my services, and declined the aid of other would be heroes when it was offered. I told myself that I had no need of them; they would only slow me down. Unfortunately for me, life has a way of bringing low those who grow overly proud.

My humbling came in the spring, more than a year after I had left the halls of King Anton the 3rd. I was hired by the mayor of a town called Hillshire to bring down a bandit leader who the locals called Margol the Wretched. A half orc with a fearsome reputation, he and his band had established themselves in a small forest that sat astride the Crimson road. There they would ambush travellers, take their belongings, and slaughter those those who surrendered. The ones who fought back were tortured and mutilated, then set loose as a warning to others.

I was confident about this hunt. My prey had chosen a forest as his domain, but a forest had been my home. There was nowhere in the world where I was more comfortable. It was as if the presence of trees around me sharpened my senses, always guiding me along the correct path. I could feel the ebb and flow of the air, and knew always where to put my feet in order to reach my destination. This Margol was feared by many, but he was in my element, and so it would be he who feared me.

I entered the forest by the road, as if I were any other traveller. Let them ambush me, let them try to rob me. It would be their last mistake. I was well armed. Beneath my cloak I wore a suit of scale mail. A longsword hung on the left side of my belt, and a hand crossbow and dagger hung from my right side. My longbow along with a quiver of arrows was slung across my back.

I had been walking for maybe fifteen minutes when my path was blocked by two men. They were scruffy sorts, their hair all tangled and greasy, and their clothes covered in dirt. Yet I could tell they were dangerous. Their leather armor showed clear signs of use, and both seemed perfectly comfortable with the weapons in their hands. The one on my left carried a pair of daggers, and his companion carried a short sword and buckler. As they approached, I carefully readied my hand crossbow beneath my cloak.

"Ho there," called the man with the buckler. "You shouldn't travel these roads alone friend. Word is its dangerous these days."

"Yeah," his companion said in a slightly slurred voice. "Lotsa people gone missing. Lotsa people gotten hurt. Shame if you were to get lost and hurt." He laughed loudly at that, though I failed to see the humor.

"So I've heard," I answered. "It is fortunate then, that I have crossed paths with such helpful men as yourselves. Surely I have nothing to worry about now."

Buckler man chuckled. "Indeed indeed, nothing to worry about at all, so long as you hand over you gold and weapons that is."

"Especially the gold," Daggers said with a grin.

I shrugged. "Ah, I'm afraid I will have to continue worrying then. I still have need of those things, so you see I can't hand them over."

"That's fine, perfectly alright on fact. We'll accept blood just as merrily as coin."

Daggers was positively dancing with excitement. "Better, even, since we still get your gold after we take your blood."

I smiled. "Is that so? Perhaps I shall keep my coin, and take your blood."

Buckler frowned. "Enough, we all know where this is going, so let's have it done." I was in full agreement. In an instant I had drawn my longsword in my right hand, and with my left I aimed my hand crossbow at Daggers. Before I loosed the bolt I uttered an arcane word that I had learned from my fellows in the Winter's Dawn. Daggers twisted, so the bolt took him in the shoulder rather than the chest as I had intended. Nevertheless, the magic I had imparted to the projectile took effect immediately. Thorny vines erupted from the impact site and wrapped all around their unfortunate victim, who cried out and struggled to no avail.

Buckler's eyes widened with surprise, but to his credit he did not back down. He came in with a hard lunge aimed at my heart. I let my crossbow fall from my off hand and took my sword in a two handed grip. I met the bandit's thrust with a rising parry that sent his blade high and wide before advancing with a slash of my own. He deflected my blow with his buckler and tried to retake the offensive. I side stepped his next blow, causing him to overextend himself and brought my sword down on the back of his neck. An instant later and his head was rolling amongst the leaves.

Dagger's jaw dropped in shock as his companion fell. His shock turned to fear as I turned my gaze upon him. He tried to raise his twin blades in defense, but he was slowed by the thorny vines digging into his flesh. In an instant I had crossed the distance between us and driven my sword through his chest. He gasped once, then fell to join Buckler on the forest floor.

I swiftly wiped my blade off on the man's clothes before returning the weapon to its sheath, then retrieved my crossbow from the ground. That business having been attended, I moved on. Satisfying as those kills might have been, neither man had been my prey. Margol awaited somewhere off the road, amongst the trees themselves.

It took me little time to find tracks leading to and from the road. I followed them for a time until I reached a clearing where four tents had been set up. Three of the tents had been arranged in a triangle around the edge of the clearing, while the largest tent rested in the center.

I concealed myself in the bushes and watched, but the camp remained still and silent. An uneasy feeling began to stir within me. I unslung my bow and notched an arrow before making my way slowly down from my hiding place. As I looked around the campsite I saw clear signs of recent habitation. A smalll fire pit, still smoldering. A rumpled sleeping bag, a half empty tankard of ale sat upon a stump. Someone, perhaps numerous somones had been here as recently as a few minutes ago. But where were they now? I realized the trap an instant before it was sprung.

Half a dozen men emerged from the trees to surround me, weapons in hand. I looked back and forth frantically, but they had left me no avenue of escape.

A booming laugh echoed from the trees, and I turned to see a towering half orc stalking towards me, a great two-handed axe held casually over his shoulder. No doubt this was Margol the Wretched. "Not bad making it to my camp," he said in a voice that sounded like boulders grinding against each other. "But foolish too, to think that we wouldn't hear what you did to Lem and Hart. Sound travels lad, and you gave us plenty of warning, though I confess I had no idea where you actually were until you crept from the bushes. Where'd a pipsqueak like you learn to move like that?"

"Lots of different people." I kept my arrow aimed towards the ground. I was acutely aware that one wrong move would lead to my swift, and likely painful death. If I was lucky enough not to be taken alive. I didn't want to know if the reports of torture and mutilation were true.

Margol smiled wide, giving me a good look at his pointed teeth. "That so? Well, at any rate, yer clearly a dangerous sort. Could be that my merry little band could use you. We need somebody to replace Lem and Hart after all."

"You want me to work for scum like you?" I spat on the ground between us. "I care not for your offer."

"Well that's just a damn shame, isn't it boys?" Margol hefted his axe in both hands. "I'm going to enjoy making you bleed." The brute charged suddenly. I loosed an arrow hoping to pierce his eye, but he swat the projectile away with the head of his axe. He came in fast and hard with a swing aimed at my neck. I dropped my bow as I ducked beneath his axe and drew my sword in a quick slash. I scored a cut on his leg, but the wound was shallow, and he seemed not to notice.

I backed away, but Margol pursued with an overhand strike. Even holding my sword in both hands I couldn't stop the blow entirely. I felt the edge of his axe bite into my left shoulder. My cry of pain was cut short when Margol drove a hard kick into my chest, driving the wind from my lungs and knocking me to the ground. I rolled aside just in time to avoid having my chest split open by Margol's next strike and sprang back to my feet, but the half orc was relentless. I tried to dodge his blows as best as I could; every impact between our weapons sent shockwaves rolling up my tiring arms and into aching shoulders. Alas, Margol's blows came with such speed and ferocity that I was left with little choice but to meet his blade again and again.

The other bandits did not participate in the fight. They stood about us in a loose circle whooping and hollering with delight as their leader drove me back and forth across the clearing.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only a few moments, Margol sent my sword spinning through the air with a metallic whooshing noise. I thought to go for my dagger, but my movements had grown sluggish now. Before my hand could close on the weapon, Margol brought the handle of his axe crashing into the side of my head, and darkness took me.


End file.
